


His Master, Undressing

by notsafeforworse



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: IM SORRY THERE'S NO PORN, M/M, Mentions of Grooming, That's why this is explicit, There's no plot, Underage - Freeform, Undressing, it's just that, just for the end, like a fine wine, literally like 4k words of sebastian undressing ciel, little boy dick, the writing is flowery and pompous and i sound like i swallowed a dictionary, there's a paragraph where seb talks about how much he wants to fuck ciel, this is pure self indulgent crap idk what to tell you, this is the kind of fic you savor slowly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsafeforworse/pseuds/notsafeforworse
Summary: A sinful shiver trickles up along Sebastian’s spine at the sight, the waifish form of Ciel’s body all the more apparent beneath the off-white of his blouse. So few were privileged to see the roll of his shoulder blades through rippling cloth, remarkably similar to the wings of a young bird not ready to fly. Innocent. Fragile. The things that a demon such as Sebastian could do to a soft thing like the Earl.The role of the butler is to undress his master at the end of each day. The role of a master is to feed his butler's hunger throughout the act.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 29
Kudos: 159





	His Master, Undressing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is purely self indulgent, thanks!!
> 
> I'm noncon_pdf on twitter as well in case you want to listen to me talk about ciel's thighs every day
> 
> fic's been edited to tighten up the grammar thanks to Luca, im love u for helping me with this

“God, that was tedious.” 

The tiredness that drags Ciel’s voice might tug on the heart of a weak man, a world weariness that a boy his age shouldn’t have to shoulder. Normally, his steps are proud and confident things, reminiscent of a soldier marching toward a battlefield, but now they drag and the heels of his boots scrape across the hardwood. One might think the sandman was following at his heels waiting to coax him into slumber if Sebastian weren’t the shadow behind Ciel, and his plans for the boy involved a far different kind of slumber.

“Business meetings usually are, young master.” A white gloved hand takes hold of Ciel’s bedroom door, parting it with a low and formal bow. The aesthetics of a butler bound him to the action, and silently his demonic pride writhes in protest. “Are you certain it wouldn’t be wise allowing Tanaka to continue representing the company?”

There’s a huff of defiance as Ciel removes his hat, holding it out to Sebastian. “I am the head of the company. The meetings are mine to take, and I refuse to hide behind someone else.”

Shaking his head, Sebastian hangs the hat up upon the coat rack beside the door with the utmost care. His master’s stubbornness and his temper were terrible things to behold when they were at odds with each other, and turned Ciel into such unpleasant company. Still, his conviction and determination to see things through to the bitter end, no matter the blood he had to spill or the pain he had to endure, only served to whet Sebastian's appetite -- stoke the fires of his hunger.

Ciel’s soul would make a fine meal… but for the moment, Sebastian contented his growing, gnawing hunger through other means.

“As you command.” The space between him and Ciel is closed as the boy shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, falling into the familiar rhythm of Sebastian taking hold of the lapels to slip it from his slender arms. A sinful shiver trickles up along Sebastian’s spine at the sight, the waifish form of Ciel’s body all the more apparent beneath the off-white of his blouse. So few were privileged to see the roll of his shoulder blades through rippling cloth, remarkably similar to the wings of a young bird not ready to fly. Innocent. Fragile. The things that a demon such as Sebastian could do to a soft thing like the Earl. 

Shaking out the coat to free it of dust, Sebastian dutifully hangs it to later be brushed and cleaned. One of Ciel’s more unfortunate habits was a dislike of the tailor’s visits, resulting in him wearing the same suit for a full month. As a result, Sebastian had to have the Earl’s clothes washed and ready before the following day. _Honestly…_ he could swear the boy made him work so hard just to spite him.

Quite a handful was his lord… but at the very least, he made such hard work worth the effort in subtle ways. No matter how hard Ciel pushed him during the day, Sebastian remained content in the knowledge that at its end, he would be rewarded by the pleasure of undressing the Earl. And now, as he moves away from the coat rack, the boy turns in tandem, waiting for gloved fingers to undo the buttons of his vest with a cool eye.

They slip free, one after another, as Ciel’s expression relaxes into something akin to satisfaction. The boy likely thinks that it’s his influence over Sebastian making him so dutiful over the removal of his clothing. The sweet and naive fool. “Have we sent word to the manufacturer that we require the prototypes by the end of the month?”

 _We._ Such a wicked word from his lips. Even as attentive to Ciel as he is, Sebastian cannot seem to recall when his I’s had turned to we’s, only that they were happening with an increasing frequency. What would be the apt word to describe their relationship…? Parasitic? Ciel was certainly a leech that fed on Sebastian’s patience, but a parasite requires one to benefit over the other, and Sebastian was content in knowing that attaching himself to the boy would yield a banquet fit for kings. Co-dependent, perhaps? Then again, Ciel relied on Sebastian far more than he relied on the boy.

 _Symbiotic_ , Sebastian thinks as he slips his hands beneath the fabric of the vest, running his palms along Ciel’s chest to slip the garment off his shoulders and down his arms. A perfect balance of give and take between them… yes, that was the nature of their dichotomy.

“Yes, young master. Though we’ve yet to receive a response, the message has indeed been sent. If it troubles you so much, we can take the carriage and visit in person.”

“No need.” Ciel allows Sebastian’s arms to wrap around him so he can take the vest from where it hangs on his wrists, hanging it beside the thick coat. “I trust that everything will be in order. If not… I have no issue in replacing incompetent staff.” He hears the bed creak, Ciel’s slight form resting on its edge, waiting.

Waiting… for the indulgence Sebastian allows himself.

There is an undeniable joy in sinking to one knee before his master - a joy that is only heightened when Ciel takes the initiative of placing a foot onto his leg, waiting for laces of his boot to be untied. Though Ciel was indeed the one to teach him how to be a butler, it was Sebastian who groomed Ciel into the intricate ritual of his undressing. So thorough in his teachings that Ciel could not so much as button his shirt without Sebastian’s assistance, needed his servant’s deft hands to free him from lace and buckle each night and fit him each morning. Every pull loosens polished leather, making it part so bewitchingly. Oh, he wants to rush, but Sebastian forces himself to stay slow.

“I have an appointment tomorrow with the milliner,” Ciel informs him, so clipped and severe as always. Nonetheless, Sebastian’s eyes are drawn up from his work to meet the burning blue of Ciel’s gaze, and he has to wonder who did a more effective job of grooming the other. “So you’ll have to cancel my dance lesson.”  
“Whatever for? You’ve hardly grown since your last visit. Another measurement isn’t necessary.”

Tutting, Ciel turns his head away with a scowl, allowing Sebastian’s hungry gaze to lower back down as he parts the throat of Ciel’s boot, raising his foot with a hand cupping the back of Ciel’s thigh to slowly slip it away, making a heady display of those slight and tantalizingly covered ankles peeking out from view. His fingers are itching to tear away those damn stockings but - _patience, Sebastian. Every good meal deserves patience._ How maddening it is to turn his gaze instead to the foot that replaces itself with the other, demanding its turn. How exhilarating the thought of another of the Earl’s layers parted by his hand.

“It isn’t that.” The irritability in Ciel’s voice only makes his compliance in Sebastian’s touch all the more indulgent. What a vain display he makes of loathing the demon below his feet… “I need a new hat.” he continues, and Sebastian is only half listening because his breath is tight from the feeling of thread laces sliding between his fingers, falling to the sides so that he can take Ciel’s other calf in his hand and lay another foot bare. It takes all of his self control not to dig in his fingers when Ciel’s toe points, all the grace and elegance only one such as him could ever hope to mimic. A straight and glorious stretch of his ankle that prompts Sebastian to run his hand down the muscle of his thigh so that his thumb can grace that plain before it disappears.

Again, he looks up to his master, grasping firmly this opportunity to compose himself before continuing. “You will not need a new hat if you cannot learn the quadrille.”

“Ridiculous. So many dances, and for what? You’re only expected to dance once, after all.”

With a chuckle, he takes one of Ciel’s ankles in his hand, admiring the garter holding in place his stocking with an appreciative eye. Like the ribbon holding in place such lovely wrapping paper… a gift so carefully prepared for himself. “I should think an Earl would be more eager to engage with ballroom etiquette.” As he speaks, his hand slides up Ciel’s leg, slowly, earning the most _intoxicating_ shiver that he near gives in to the urge to keep going, up, further… The thought of Ciel _enjoying_ Sebastian’s ministrations is almost more than he can bear.

“After all,” his other hand coaxes leather free of copper buckle, pulling it first taut, to free the prong from the punch hole - one that he himself had to add because the beautiful thing was too small - in such a way that it draws Ciel’s skin tight, squeezes it in place of his own hungry hand, only to loosen and come undone. “It is those in attendance who determine your standing in society.”

His reply is a sound of annoyance from Ciel, begrudging to the accuracy of Sebastian’s words, oblivious to the careful way that the clasps holding his socks are undone with the utmost delicacy, so that the first garter can be set aside. Sebastian’s focus turns to the next, yet another ribbon to be pulled away. Slow and careful, methodical-

“If it’s so important, you can chaperone me for the night. I’m certain you won’t mind being asked to dance for hours on end.”

This would be far more satisfying if the boy above him could learn to _keep his mouth shut sometimes._

“Of course, young master.” His eyes raise at that, pulling taught the garter as he speaks. Perhaps he can pretend he’s strangling the Earl’s throat, and that will ease his tension. “Though if you wanted to dance with me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Scowling, Ciel kicks his foot forward, pressing the ball of it sharply into Sebastian’s chest. “And watch what you’re doing. You’re going to cut my circulation pulling so hard.”

“Please try to control your temper.” As if Sebastian doesn’t delight in each flaring of Ciel’s temper. Those moments are beautiful tastes of what’s to come, reminders of the weight that Ciel’s soul holds. Few know as well as Sebastian how Ciel keeps his emotions on a tight leash, tighter than the one he keeps on Sebastian himself, as though anything more than mild annoyance is a weakness he cannot afford. The Earl is not eager to allow anyone a glimpse into his thoughts. Such heavy burdens for such small shoulders, and Sebastian practically salivates at any crack that forms in his cold armor. Even such a simple act of tempered violence makes his hands move too fast, stripping free the other garter far less gently than the last.

The pacing is all wrong. This is his reward after the long and arduous task of tending to his master, and he cannot seem to take the same satisfaction at such a slow decadence. Sebastian… he is hungry, _starving. Ravenous._ His touches have grown bolder with each night, in such small increments that the Earl can barely tell the difference from when Sebastian clinically removed his shirt, and when he smoothed his gloved hands down porcelain skin, pushing the fabric softly from his shoulders, feeling the warmth of him below his fingers. As he collects the garters to carry them away and place them in their drawer, he ponders how far the Earl will permit him to push this time. How far he should permit himself. Pulling Ciel apart slowly was surely a sweeter submission than giving in to his hunger.

A glance at Ciel as he gently shuts the dresser’s drawer shows him with one leg crossed over the other, his chin propped on his hand in thought, bowed forward to rest his elbow on his knee. Rare was the sight of his master slouched. The willowy bend of his back, relaxed drop of his shoulders. If Sebastian’s hand could only reach forward to tilt up his chin and pull the thoughts from his mind.

“You look troubled, young master.” he offers, returning to a knee before him. Finally, he permits himself to hook his thumbs into the glorious space between woven silk and moon-kissed pale skin, pressing slow to caress the Earl’s calf and undress his shin.

Ciel speaks just before the peak of his ankle, the bones of it catching on the stockings’ netting, teasing Sebastian by forcing him to readjust his grip. “No more than any other night.” And yet, Ciel’s gaze is turning down to the ring around his thumb.

Vincent wore it on his little finger, Sebastian recalls from portraits now left to gather dust. He doubts that Ciel will ever have the chance to grow into it.

His hand chases darkness as the stocking falls away, rolling over Ciel’s heel and sliding up along his arch. The boy is so small he can fit almost his entire foot into his hand - pale from being hidden from the sun, soft from lack of work or walk. At times, anyone could mistake him for a doll, and what a grave mistake that was to make.

“Shall I make you warm milk before bed?” Sebastian reasons that it’s the very least he can do to reward how docile Ciel has become under his hands. Such good behaviour needed to be rewarded, encouraged, lest he decide to slip back into his usual bratty attitudes. It earns him a dubious look from the boy, no doubt trying to sense his intentions. 

"... With honey…?"

Ciel's legs uncross, allowing Sebastian to take his veiled foot with a crooked smile. Part pride, part satisfaction, part lust and hunger ever gnawing at his core that he withholds himself from satisfying. Ravenous… another glimpse of a newly bared ankle does nothing to soothe those hungry fires urging him to sink his teeth into those small bones. Ah, how beautiful the young Lord's skin would be, marked by his teeth. If he were to take Ciel's ankles now (he could surely fit both in one hand), he could hold the boy up with nowhere to go, no way to fight…

"With honey," he agrees. The second sock comes free, and Sebastian chances rubbing along the side of Ciel's arch with his thumb. "Perhaps such warmth will help to keep your nightmares at bay."

“Perhaps.” Ciel concedes, but the suspicion of his eyes doesn’t falter under soothing words from a predator’s jaws. The boy was no fool, far smarter than any of the adults he walks amongst as an equal -- smart enough to know that Sebastian’s kindness was a double-edged thing, hiding dark intentions that often eluded even his brilliant mind. But then, it was always difficult for Ciel to comprehend when he was desired. And how he was desired…

It was certainly not Sebastian alone who had the overwhelming want to possess the boy. When men looked at Ciel, they saw a doll, perfect and porcelaine and meant to be placed on their shelves, admired and displayed. Innocence and youth were coveted things, not only among London’s Underground, but in its highest echelons alike. He wonders, often, if Ciel realises the Queen he holds in such high regard is no better than the rest of them. How she fawns over her precious dog, his impeccable pedigree, groomed to bark on command.

Likely not.

When Sebastian’s hands gently wrap themselves around the inside of Ciel’s thighs, just above his knees, to spread them open so that he can access the Earl’s thigh, and Ciel’s eyes finally shut in boredom, Sebastian thinks that Ciel may never understand how coveted he truly is. How many would throw themselves upon their blades to be in Sebastian’s place, taking the thin metal sliver of Ciel’s top button between thumb and forefinger to coax it free of its slit. His pants were so cleverly tailored to hide the buttons that kept them taut around the young boy’s waist, leaving their very existence a secret between them that Sebastian relished in the knowledge of. How perfectly his fingers slid between the fabric’s folds to press each button open, making the waistline part and unfurl like a flower in bloom. _What a sight you make, young master…_

On the streets, sometimes Sebastian will happen upon children who play games of taking flowers not yet ready to bloom and forcing their petals to open, competing to see who can open their blossoms without tearing them. Every time Sebastian undresses his master, he finds he can understand the game far better.

“Up, young master.” With the buttons undone, comes his favourite part, the part that had taken the longest to teach Ciel to submit to with his stubborn pride. At first, he had thrown tantrums and belittled Sebastian for the mere _suggestion_ he should pick him up, but now when his arms open, Ciel’s own reach out toward him and wrap around his neck. The boy tucks himself close against Sebastian’s chest, letting one of the demon’s hands slide under his thighs to raise him up off the bed as the other pulls the hem of his pants down slowly over the boney curve of his hind. Ciel was so slight and thin, his flank barely wider than Sebastian’s forearm. Perfect to hold close against him, as though he had been made for the act.

He’s set down with the utmost care, and a palm stroking along the underside of his neglected thigh, coaxing his shorts down slowly to his knees. The peek of his underwear between where his legs part -- _Ah…_ What bliss. Those tantalizing garments were always the next to last to be removed, a treasure that should be saved until the end.

The garment is slipped from around his ankles, set aside as Sebastian’s eyes slide slow up along Ciel’s body, from his small feet and boney ankles, coltish legs sporting knees that would scuff so easily, a waist too slender to comprehend, until he meets Ciel’s blouse, and this… _This_ is truly wrapped in a ribbon like a gift. Sebastian can scarcely _breathe_ as his fingers turn the edge of the bow around Ciel’s collar between them, wrapping in a soft loop and pulling, achingly slow, watching the knot that sits where the sweet divet between his collarbones surely lies unravel. Pulling further, letting it slide out from beneath folds of fabric and into Sebastian’s palm. Ciel doesn’t stir. Doesn’t flinch.

In this moment… he is truly Sebastian’s.

Swallowing hard, the demon’s hands begin the process of undoing buttons again, one after another. How guarded his dear master was, protected from all hands but the ones he should fear the most. If only he were smarter, better understood the games that Sebastian played with his young mind. Ciel fancied himself the player of chess with Sebastian as his knight, when in reality, the earl was the last in a line of dominos Sebastian had already set in motion, toppling toward him.

The first button reveals the hollow of his neck, a low and soft drop below his throat near pleading to cup exerted sweat in its hold. The sweet divot is flanked by his collar bones on either side that the second button reveals, spreading out like swan’s wings, graceful and curved. What he wouldn’t give to run his thumb along a ridge and feel how the boy trembles beneath the touch… a desire that required patience before it could be fulfilled. With the third button, Sebastian can rake his eyes down Ciel’s sternum, and his ribs come into view, such fine things that his skin seems to barely cover. Since he’d met Ciel on that fateful night, he’d hardly gained back the weight he lost, despite his proclivity for cakes and sweet desserts. His appetite had never truly recovered.

Sebastian can’t seem to find it within him to care, not when he’s looking down to the soft plane of Ciel’s stomach, and the final button comes undone to let the ends of his shirt part like curtains on the sight that is Ciel’s hips. The sweet bone of them jutting out above the hem of his drawers. Such a perfect sight that he finds his hands stilling, a moment too long, earning his master’s curious eye upon him.

“What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“Nothing, young master.” Lies flow as sweet and smooth as honey off his tongue, even as his hands are sliding themselves up the sides of Ciel’s waist and along his chest. By now, the boy is so used to Sebastian’s touch that it draws no question from him. “Only that your blouse is stained. I’ll have it out by morning.”

But infuriatingly, the questioning burn doesn’t fade as he rolls his hands down Ciel’s shoulders, along the length of his arms to pull the shirt away from him. “Is that truly all? Taking longer than usual to undress me and offering milk before bed because of a stain in my blouse? I didn’t realise you took me for a fool, Sebastian.”

“Why, I would have thought you’d realised by now.”

He laughs as Ciel takes his hands out from his sleeves, folding them in irritation over his chest. So sweet, was his master, in his belief that his mood could truly hold sway over Sebastian. No, as he folds the shirt over to set it aside, Sebastian is far too busy thinking of his prize, the reward of his patience. White and frilled, pleading to be removed by his deft, attentive hands. Finally, he could--

“Do not touch me.”

His eyes widen in disbelief at the Earl’s words, making him still instantly. “Not until you tell me why you’re behaving like this.” Ciel continues, and Sebastian’s mind is racing for a way to move forward without breaking the rules that bind him. _You will never lie to me._ It didn’t mean Sebastian was at liberty to tell the truth.

Slowly his eyes raise, burning amber in contrast to the icy blue that glares down at him, trying to force him into submission. “You did well today, young master.” He nearly falls apart at the way the ice cracks, breaking into a wide and shocked stare. But it was true, even if Sebastian had no particular care for Ciel’s business ventures. He didn’t _have_ to specify that when he said Ciel did well, he referred to the way he had become accustomed to his touch. Had made no fuss over being picked up, dressed and undressed like Sebastian’s own perfect doll. It was well deserved praise.

“... Very well. Continue.”

Permission granted, Sebastian’s hands wrap around Ciel’s hips, each bone fitting so perfectly into the hollow of his palm as though he were built for the act, as though when Sebastian chose his shape, he had known to match his own anatomy with Ciel’s. There was no part of him that could not fit perfectly beside his butler, truly inseparable. 

“If you’ll please stand, young master.” He helps Ciel up to his feet, and then -- and then -- he can hook his thumbs into those drawers. Watch as the hem of them slides down past Ciel’s hips to reveal his anatomy. Never will Sebastian tire of the sight, small and soft, pink, hanging between his thighs like a rosebud not yet ready to bloom. He knows quite well Ciel isn’t ripe enough for him to dare brushing against it, not yet, but his thumbs do trace the line where his groin and thigh intersect, earning a soft sound from the boy that he doubts Ciel even realises he’s made.

The Earl’s inability to comprehend his own arousal was infuriatingly delicious.

Even as he slips the fabric down past Ciel’s knees, his eyes remain fixed on that sweetness, imagining what it would be like to take it into his hand. Ciel is so small that he’d barely be the size of Sebastian’s palm, it would take only his thumb and forefinger to stroke him. What sounds would a boy like Ciel make, he wonders. Is he the sort to moan broken, jagged things, or would such a proud soul be reduced to pathetic whimpers and mewls? Would he rock into his hand? Shift to get away? Sebastian would never let him get away. He’d hold him down so neither option would bear any fruit, and relish in Ciel at his mercy. He would teach that pride to crumble and beg.

But not yet… not yet… Hunger made the meal all the more satisfying, did it not? He could wait to teach the Phantomhive boy what to do. Step by careful step, touch by gentle touch.

Ciel’s hand rests on Sebastian’s palm when the drawers puddle at his feet, using his help to step out of them, his bare feet resting against the cold floor as he stands completely nude. “Warm milk,” he reminds Sebastian. “With honey.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The final piece to remove is Ciel’s ring. Running his thumb over soft, small knuckles, Sebastian presses his lips to its jeweled surface before slipping it from the Earl’s finger. His master, laid bare… yes, there were other ways to sate the demon’s hunger, and even those were worth starving for, for the moment.


End file.
